Exchangeability
by CatchingWind
Summary: Exchangeability redone! When you're a ninja or a half ghost, things are strange enough as is, but when you wake up in a life that's not your own, things are suddenly taken to a whole new level of weird. Danny Cunningham? Randy Fenton? If you thought these boys' lives were crazy enough, you haven't seen anything yet!


Being the kind of kid who spends a good chunk of his time in the air, I don't exactly have a good sense of whether I'm floating or sitting on solid ground. I've just gotten so used to both walking and flying and having to switch between modes of transportation on a dime that they're both so normal to me.

So you can imagine how surprising it was for me when I rolled out of bed one morning only to fall eight feet onto cold hardwood.

I mean last time I checked my bed did not float, unless if you count that one time when the magnetic field around the Ghost Portal went out of whack. That aside, I also haven't floated in my sleep for ages; the last time I remember doing that was three weeks after I got out of the hospital from the accident. True, it might've taken me a bit to get a grip on my powers, but flying was one that I got under control quickly.

So what happened?

Lying flat on my back, still trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of me, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I'm used to that spackled white stuff that seems to be in every house, but in here, the ceiling was wooden and arched up into an upside-down V. Kind of like an attic. That and the fact that I could hear a woman's voice that I'd never heard before calling my name frantically and getting closer along with the sound of echoing footsteps told me something was very wrong.

"Danny, are you okay?" the owner of the voice asked. She appeared in the doorway, and I craned my neck to see her. Given it ended up being pointless because frankly, I'd never seen this woman in my entire life. So how did she know my name and why was she so worried about me?

I managed to mutter something about being fine as I gazed around the rest of the room. Yeah, it definitely wasn't mine. I never had a couch in my room, and was that one of those huge spindle things acting as a table? And the bed, that's why I had fallen so hard – it was one of those loft beds, lifted up in the air. I'd always wanted one, but they were too tall for my room.

Speaking of my room, where the heck was it? Why was I here?

As I sat up, the woman came over and knelt by me. She ran the palm of her hand all over my scalp and my forehead, feeling for any bumps. "Well, I don't think you hit your head, sweetie," she said, scanning the rest of me for any injury. "Anything else hurt?"

"N-no, I'm fine," I said again. In a way, this woman kind of reminded me of my mom. They both have that short hair, except this lady's was so dark black it looked purple. And the way she examined me closely reminded me of how my mom would study me as a kid when I would fall down at the playground. They both have a sort of calculating, yet worried stare that makes you wonder if she's going to hug you and give you a cookie or pin you down in a headlock and threaten you if you try anything funny (trust me, I've been a victim to both scenarios).

She stood up and brushed off her skirt. "Well, if you're absolutely sure. I was on my way up here anyway to tell you that I'm going to be late tonight, I've got a couple of surgeries lined up this afternoon. Plus your father is still out of town on his business trip, so you're going to be on your own tonight," she said as she pulled on a white lab coat, "and _no_ , that does _not_ mean you can have Howard over without permission. You better call me first, mister, before inviting anyone over."

If I said anything along the lines of "okay" or "yes," I wouldn't remember. I was still dazed from the impact of the fall, which was ironic considering the number of hard hits I've taken from Skulker, Vlad, Technus, just about every ghost I've ever met, in fact. And then this lady waltzes into the picture and throws everything out of whack. I can't tell if I'm dreaming or if this is some living nightmare where this… imposter was posing as my mother and I have a father who goes on business trips and I apparently have a loft bed. And then a truly nauseating thought hit me: was I still even in Amity Park? Had I been kidnapped by some crazy lunatics and whisked off to Nowheresville, USA, and they were lying to me and telling me they were my parents? Or even worse, was this some sort of crazy ruse by the Guys in White? Did they figure out my identity?

Poser-mother helped me stand up finally and kissed my forehead. "Howard will be over soon to walk to school with you; you should start getting ready so you're not late," she told me as she walked towards the doorway. "Have a good day, sweetie!"

I didn't respond, really. Whoever this lady was, she really thought that I was her son. And now a new question arose: who in the Ghost Zone was Howard? From the sounds of it, some kid at school, but as far as I know there are no Howards at Casper.

I was beginning to think my not-in-Amity-Park theory was pretty sound.

Zombie-like, still trying to drink everything in, I wandered over to what looked like the closet, and when I opened it, I was surprised to see such a monotonous wardrobe. I suppose I really have no room to talk, seeing as my clothes consist of jeans and very similar t-shirts, but did I wear anything else in this crazy world?

The clothes were designed for someone taller than me. The dark jeans had cuffs that were consistently under my heels, and the hoodie hung much lower than what was generally considered normal. And the purple sneakers were about a size or two too large; I was worried I was going to trip over them. Carefully, I picked my way around littered clothes and random memorabilia, trying to figure out how to get out of the house. Honestly, I had no idea where I was going. I was tempted to just go ghost and fly out of there, but logic told me that was probably a bad idea. If this was some sort of plot by the Guys in White or Vlad or someone else, they could easily track me down. I was probably safer as a human.

By the time I finally found the stairs leading down to the ground floor, I had a thousand different theories as to why I was here. Being probably the most notorious ghost known and carrying such a big secret makes me an easy target for enemies, and there are a number of ghosts that would love to see me in a paranoid situation like this. Then again, something was telling me that this wasn't a simple matter of a ghost kidnapping me to get revenge. One thing tipped me off to this: it was obvious that the clothes I was wearing were meant for somebody else, somebody who wasn't me. So while the question of what I was doing here still stood, there was a second part to it now. Who actually _was_ supposed to be here, and where were they now?

Something was definitely fishy.

I found the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Hey, if Poser-mother thought I was her real son, then I can eat her food, right? And I found myself ravenous. Not that it came as too much of a surprise; as much energy as I use being half-ghost, I need a lot of food to keep myself going. I pulled out a bagel and was trying to figure out how to use the toaster oven (one that did _not_ have ecto-settings, thank goodness) when the doorbell rang impatiently. I shoved the bagel into the toaster and set it randomly, hoping it didn't burn, then ran in my too-big shoes to the front door, or at least where I thought the front door was.

I didn't know what I was expecting when I opened it. Things had already been weird enough in the past half hour, nothing should have come as a surprise to me. Still, I couldn't help but be caught off guard when the door opened and a short red-head sauntered through the doorway, babbling on about some new item that some guy named Mick Fish had released or whatever. I was even more startled when he walked back to the kitchen and started rifling through the pantry, the fridge, the cupboards, everything really. When he finally emerged, he had an armada of food, including the bagel I had started cooking a bit ago. He plopped himself down at the table and started eating, still rambling about whatever new gadget it was.

"Imagine it, Cunningham! A school chair that _massages_ you while you work! How great is this?" he said to me excitedly.

"Cunning-who?" I asked. I didn't really care about a chair, as cool as it might be. I was much more concerned about why this kid had just called me Cunningham.

He stared at me blankly for a few awkward seconds and then burst out laughing, almost tipping his chair backwards. "Haha, good one, Cunningham! Come on, you're not dumb enough to mind wipe yourself again, right?" he guffawed, his belly bouncing up and down with every laugh.

Every word that came out of his mouth just furthered my confusion. "Look, I really have no clue what you're talking about, and I'm really not in the mood to deal with whatever scheme has been cooked up this time. Just please tell me where I am so I can get home," I said exasperatedly.

He furrowed his eyebrows and set down my bagel that he'd just been getting ready to devour. "Are you serious?" he asked. "You mean you really did mind wipe yourself again?"

"I mean, I have no idea what mind wipe means, but if you mean that I don't know what this place is or who you are or why my name is suddenly Cunningham, then yeah, I suppose you could say I 'mind wiped' myself… again, apparently."

He rolled his eyes. "Jeez, he's really not faking it," he muttered under his breath. I honestly didn't know if I was supposed to hear that or not, but it didn't really make a difference to me. He jumped down off of the chair and began walking towards the front door once more. "Alright, come on, you shoob," he called back to me. "Let the Master Weinerman show you how it's done."

As I followed him out the door, I decided that the word "shoob" was the most normal thing to happen all morning.

By now it was pretty obvious that I wasn't in Amity Park any more. That's something that Howard didn't have to tell me.

Apparently, this kid who had walked into the house and eaten all the food like he owned the place was the Howard that Poser-mother had been referring to, and he was also apparently my best friend. It made sense when I thought about it, but thinking about best friends made me wonder about Sam and Tucker. Did they realize I was missing yet? And if they did, were they even trying to find me?

Howard explained to me that this was the small city of Norrisville, home to the champions of the Inter-City Chess Tournament for however many years and counting. I guess there wasn't much else to be proud of, considering the mascot of the high school we supposedly attended was a carp. Yeah, like the fish, carp. Don't ask me, I didn't ask to be plopped down here.

He also told me about this guy named McFist, who I'd mistaken for Mick Fish earlier. The guy was this mega-billionaire or whatever who pretty much owned the town with all of his franchises, merchandise, buildings, theme parks, everything really. Hearing about him set off a million alarm bells in my head, seeing as the only other entrepreneurial billionaire I knew was the only other half-ghost on earth who also wanted to kill my real father and take me as his son. I remembered that I should probably avoid the dude, that is, if I ever crossed paths with him.

We walked through the front doors of Norrisville High School into a wide open atrium, complete with a carp mosaic in the center of the floor. I noticed the sun glinting off of something protruding from the ground, and I walked over to observe it. There it was, just sitting in the middle of the floor where anybody could trip over it: a gold-colored stone, serving as the eye of the carp mosaic. Something about it screamed that it was incredibly important, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I found it odd, considering I've been developing a sixth sense of sorts when it comes to important stuff. I couldn't figure out whether this strangely placed stone was a good thing or a bad thing…

Howard jogged over to me and began steering me away from the stone. "No! Do _not_ break open that thing again! I am _not_ becoming a bird demon again!" he shouted at me. Once again, each word sounded like a foreign language, but at this point, I was so used to hearing crazy things I'd supposedly done since the beginning of high school. I kept trying to tell him that none of this could be real, that I knew where I was from and how I needed to get back, but he was under the delusion I'd somehow wiped my entire memory. And he still kept calling me Cunningham, though I repeatedly told him it was Fenton.

"Nobody pulls the wool over Howard Weinerman's eyes!" he declared as he ushered me into what must've been first period class. English, from the looks of it. Not that it really mattered, this wasn't my school. I was crossing my fingers that maybe this Howard kid was also part of the big confusion and whoever the teacher was would realize that I didn't belong. My hopes weren't too high, though. I swear, there's something in the water here.

"Hey, you did that essay Bannister assigned us, right? Lemme see it!" Howard said, reaching towards the messenger bag that was apparently my backpack.

I snatched it up quickly. "Nuh-uh. First of all, I have no idea what I'm doing here, and you're under the impression that I've lost my memory, which trust me: I know what that feels like, and I definitely have my memory right now. Do you really think I would've done an essay for a class I'm not supposed to be in? Second, I'm not giving you anything until you give me some answers or at least help me get back to where I'm supposed to be," I told him, clutching the bag protectively.

Howard snickered. "Fine, Cunningham, fine. Just don't be disappointed when you don't hand in that paper; Bannister said he was giving _a month_ of detentions to anyone who didn't do it!"

"From the sounds of it, you should be talking."

"Trust me, I've got a plan that's gonna knock your socks off."

As much as I wasn't going to trust Howard, he did have a point: I really should turn this paper in or whatever for whatever kid I'd replaced. Whoever it was didn't deserve a month of detentions, and if I was stuck here while I figured out what on earth I was doing here, _I_ didn't want to be serving a month of detentions at a school I wasn't even supposed to be attending. If I was lucky, maybe this kid had already written the paper and I could just turn that in. I opened the bag and started shuffling through the contents, which eerily resembled my own backpack, wherever it was. Papers crumpled up everywhere, a half-eaten (and starting to mold) sandwich, and a few textbooks. Except…

There was one that didn't really look like a textbook.

Somehow I completely forgot about looking for the paper, forgoing it in favor of the mysterious book. The colors were admittedly cool, a red and black design all around the front and back covers with little 9s everywhere, or were they supposed to be Gs? I couldn't really tell, to be honest. And the green mask on the front cover was the most interesting of all, it resembled something I felt like I've seen before, maybe in a movie or something. Letting curiosity get the best of me, I slowly reached out to open the book and –

 _BBBRRRRIIIIIINNNNGGGG!_

I just about jumped three feet out of my seat, and that's saying something since I've been surprise-attacked by ghosts more times than I can even count. A sudden influx of kids started streaming into the room along with a teacher who reminded me strongly of Mr. Lancer. The same potbelly, bald head and everything. I sighed and put the book back into the bag, resolving to check it out later. Hey, who knew? Maybe it was some diary that the kid had left behind and I could finally figure out what was going on here. Considering my luck, though, it was probably some stupid graphic novel about superheroes or whatever (which, by the way, don't do the real thing justice whatsoever).

Either way, I knew one thing: I had to figure out what happened to me, what happened to the other kid, and how on earth to fix it. I wasn't going to let anything get in my way.

"Mr. Cunningham, your paper?"

… Except for maybe detention.

 **-CatchingWind**

 **I'm pleased to present the Exchangeability redux! As I said before, this is obviously taking a totally different plotline than the original Exchangeability, so I hope this one turns out better than the first!**

 **As well, May 15** **th** **marks my last day of school, so I'm hoping to be able to update much more consistently during the summer. The introduction of this story gives me a total of three "in progress" stories: Hear My Cry, The Complete Danny Phantom Analysis, and then this one. I'll try to be alternating uploads between the three throughout the summer, so stay tuned!**

 **Please leave your thoughts and comments in a review, I'm looking for criticism (especially on Howard's character, I'm really struggling to write him…)! Thanks so much!**


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